John's Hobby
by tryingtowritefanfiction
Summary: "John is away from the flat for hours when he wants to have fun. His hobby is murdering youngish, dark-haired, slender men...And then he notices that he has one as a flatmate..." I can't take credit for this idea! It was a suggestion left by a guest in a review of another story
1. Chapter 1

John had been gone for nearly five hours, saying he was just going out to get the milk was his excuse this time. Not like Sherlock ever noticed when he was gone anyway. It started like it normally would.

John arrived at the bar and ordered a drink. He sat scoping out the crowd for someone he thought fit. Some nights he wouldn't find anyone; this had been a particularly long dry spell for John that had been lasting about two months. Then he spotted him dancing with some red head, the One.

He was tall and thin with long dark hair. John got up and pushed his way through the dancing men to reach him. When he arrived he slid in between the One and the red head and started grinding against him. The red head gave him a look of distaste and left.

"I'm John!" he shouted over the music.

The One smiled, "Name's Tom! Pleasure to meet you John!" he called back. Tom had high cheekbones and bright blue eyes; he had a fantastic smile and seemed to be constantly flashing it at John as they moved together.

"Drink?" John asked as the music changed to a slower, quieter song. "Yes, thank you."

They made their way to the bar and John ordered for them, "So, what are you looking for tonight John?" Tom inquired before biting his lip.

John chuckled, "Just a bit of fun, do you want to get out of here?"

Tom replied by leaning in and giving John's lower lip a nibble, "Yeah, I'd like that."

John took him by the wrist and lead them through the crowd to the back door, "Back door's less crowded," he explained. Tom just flashed him another brilliant smile.

Once they got out back they followed the alley for a while till John stopped them.

He shoved Tom up against a wall and kissed him hard, "I can't wait any longer." He growled between bruising kisses. He could feel Tom grinning a bit into the kiss.

John ground his hips roughly into the others and grabbed Tom's hands from where they'd been caressing him pinning them to the wall. He was trying his hardest to kiss back with the same force John was using.

Suddenly John released one of Tom's hands and reached for his pocket. "Need a condom," John muttered into the other's his ear before biting it. Tom moaned.

John opened the pocket knife and kissed Tom harder with no finesse.

He plunged the knife into Tom's stomach and twisted.

John muffled his screams with his own mouth pressing hard against the others. They slid down the wall slowly together.

John pulled the knife back out and thrust it in again, Tom whimpered pathetically.

"Shhh, shhh, its okay, it'll stop hurting soon." John whispered

Tom quaked and squeaked as blood dripped from his mouth running down his chin to join the pool forming on his stomach.

John smiled as the tremors died down, leaning over he kissed Tom's forehead.

He stood up and wiped his stained hands onto his shirt. Looking down at Tom now he could see that his eyes were too rounded and his lips were too thin.

"Next time I'll get it right." John muttered as he walked away.

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_authors note! i really hope i did that prompt justice, it's a very good prompt. i hope you enjoyed and i would love to hear any ideas you had for dark!john stories or where you think i should go with this one, have a great day and thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

When John got home he took off his shirt and threw it in the wash along with some of Sherlock's experiment stained clothes. They always had an "experiment stain" laundry load.

Sherlock was typing away at John's laptop for some reason or another when he finally noticed John.

"John, Lestrade has a case for us."

"Oh?"

Sherlock shut the computer and turned to face John, "Yes, someone has been killing young men of the same physical appearance for what appears to be nearly three years. There have been 42 killings, more or less, and the police just put it together. The methods of murder have all been different but given the similarities between…"

John's mind wandered. Was this it? If anyone could find out who did it, it would be Sherlock. Sherlock with his thick dark curls, his bright blue eyes, his cheek bones that could cut diamonds, his towering height, and his overall beauty and brains, such a combination shouldn't be allowed.

"…John, are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry, zoned out a bit I guess. What were you saying?"

Sherlock gave an annoyed sigh and repeated "We'll need to go undercover. It seems most of these men were taken from night clubs around the area and, well, I do fit the profile exactly."

"Right. Yes. Good idea, when are we doing this?"

"Not for at least a week, we need to time it so it'll fit the killing pattern, but also so I don't have to spend unnecessary time with those idiots."

John laughed.

Later that night John woke up with a rumbling stomach and glanced over at the clock, 2:11.

He sighed and got up to have a snack. Making his way to the kitchen he noticed a sleeping Sherlock on the couch.

He looked so peaceful and child-like in laying there, his sharp features softened by sleep.

John wanted to hold him. To kiss him. To bite him. To fuck him. To tear him open. To feel his blood running through his fingers.

He went in to start a pot of tea.

In the morning Sherlock was still asleep on the couch and John stared.

How he wanted Sherlock.

After considering it for a few moments, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Sherlock's. His lips were warm and soft and open a little bit and it was heaven.

When he pulled away Sherlock was staring up at him.

"N-no," John stuttered, "I can explain Sherlock, I'm sorry, I just-"

Sherlock held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright John."

"It-it is?"

"Yes, I understand. You are in love with me. Please don't let it happen again though, you are a valuable companion but I feel no sexual or romantic interest in you, or anyone for that matter."

John was silent.

Sherlock frowned, "I'm sorry John. I do care for you. Just not like that. I am sorry."

John backed away into the kitchen "No, Sherlock, I'm the one that should be apologizing, I'm sorry." And he started making breakfast.

Sherlock stared. Emotions were messy and this, though he didn't really know much, seemed to be over too easily.

John looked down at the pancakes he was making like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Well, if he couldn't have Sherlock, nobody could. It was only fair.

The washer buzzed. "I'll get it." John called, suddenly broken from his daydream.

"No, it's alright, I've got it."

Sherlock walked over to the washer and began to pull out his clothes and load them into the dryer when he noticed a very bloody shirt. Not that a very bloody shirt was unusual, but, it was John's shirt. Sherlock had never used one of John's shirts in an experiment.

Then the pieces all slid together.

All the victims were symbolic of him, the murders had been going on for as long as John had known him, the long nights away from the flat, and now, the shirt.

He began to panic, why hadn't he seen this before?

He thought of all the ways the others had been killed; stabbing, shooting, hanging, drowning, burning, poison… he wondered which one John was planning for him.

No, wait. As long as there was no stressor, he could get out and notify Lestrade.

He turned to head back to the kitchen, already thinking of an excuse to leave, and bumped into John.

"John, what do you want?" he asked, he needed to get his voice under control if he was going to escape.

John leaned in and kissed him.

Of course, the first kiss was the stressor.

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_authors note! thank you so much for reading! i would really appreciate more dark!john ideas, especially from the guest who suggested this story! oh how i wish you weren't a guest! you can join and not write anything you know! anyway, have a fantastic day and thank you again for reading! _


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock jerked away quickly and took a step back.

John smiled strangely, "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

Sherlock backed up until he hit the wall and John just followed him up to the wall.

"My dearest Sherlock, do you know how long I've dreamed of this?" he wrapped his hand around Sherlock's neck and with the other he pulled out his knife.

Sherlock was frozen in fear and shock. How could he have not seen this? Stupid, stupid!

John slowly dragged the blade across Sherlock's collarbone, just enough to brake the skin and bask in the lovely crimson he discovered. How amazing, he held this man's life in his hands, like so many before, and he could simply end it at anytime.

Sherlock whimpered and brought John out of his trance. "John, please, this isn't you. This isn't what you want."

John leaned in and bit the other's lip hard to watch the blood drip down his chin. Sherlock let out another whimper.

He ran his hand through Sherlock's curls gently, almost lovingly. "Why don't you have a seat on the sofa, my dearest?"

Sherlock nodded shakily walking over to sit, all the while desperately looking around for an escape.

Once he was down John straddled his lap and leaned in to lick at his bloodied lip, holding the knife loosely in his hand. Perhaps if Sherlock could shift and surprise John, he could grab it.

Now or never he supposed. Sherlock twisted one way and then the other trying to catch him off guard and take the weapon, but John was too fast.

Sherlock didn't even see the skin of his shoulder torn open or his abdomen pierced with the blade.

John was ecstatic. He grabbed Sherlock's wounded arm and twisted a finger into the cut making Sherlock wail.

He leaned down and took a bite out of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock screamed and thrashed around under John but he seemed helpless.

John slithered off Sherlock's lap and kneeled in front of him. He took Sherlock's left leg and then his right and slashed his _Achilles tendons._

Sherlock screamed and screamed and thrashed around.

John was covered in sweat and Sherlock's blood as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock's cheek. He stroked the back of Sherlock's head and neck and whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

"I adore you Sherlock. You are so beautiful like this, you know. Fuck you're gorgeous. I need this, we need this. I need to rip you open, drain you, live inside you. You don't mind do you, Sherlock. You know I'd never hurt you."

John licked away Sherlock's tears and left for the kitchen.

Sherlock collapsed to the floor and attempted to crawl away, John saw and just laughed.

Sherlock tried to ignore him as he inched toward his desk.

He reached it after what felt like forever and pulled himself into the chair so he could grab the beaker of nitric acid.

John smiled at him from the kitchen and walked over, "I'm glad you're sitting because for this next part I plan t-"

He was cut off as Sherlock tossed the acid at John's eyes.

John screamed and fell to his knees. Sherlock slid down and took John's phone from him.

He dialed the number quickly.

"Lestrade, I believe I've found the murderer."

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_authors note! thank you so much for reading this! dear guest, i hope i did okay! i would really love to hear more story ideas! probably dark!john, but anything is good, thank you so very much! have a lovely day!_


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